Recollection
by GetOutOfMyHead
Summary: Memories of the end of the war. What would happen if there was one small glitch in Trelawney's prophesy? What if it wasn't Harry that would defeat Voldemort?


_**AN**: I know I keep saying I'm about to update Lost Unity, and I don't, but hey, bite me. I have a life. Kind of. Fuck you, I do to have a life. Bitches. _

_This is another one-shot, bit this time I mean it. I don't have anywhere to go with it. It's not very long, but it's to the point and raw I think. I hurt as much to write as Thousand Mile Wish did- artists and true writers will know what I'm talking about. Some of you will be confused through it, but once you finish you'll get it. Just remember in the 5th book where Harry and Albus are discussing the prophesy._

_AND FOR THE RECORD, I DID NOT MAKE UP ARTISTS PRIVILEGE, IT ACTUALLY EXISTS, AND WHOEVER THE HELL EMAILED ME ABOUT THE GROSEOSITY OF MAN-ON-MAN ACTION, FUCK YOU, YOU DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T READ IT, GO LICK MONKEY BALLS, OOPS, I'M SORRY, THAT'S YOUR MOM!!!_

_Anyways. So yea, read and review. Oh, and rgFaNaTiC wrote a totally awesome story, go and read it. It will convince her that the stuff she writes IS good, and then I won't be the only one enjoying her stories, because she'll post, and we can all enjoy, so really it benefits all of us. Talk about a run-on sentence._

_Enjoy!_

**Recollection**

I couldn't believe it. I was socked that I didn't even notice the shockwave coming. I just stared down at that lifeless body, empty of it's former evil; I was completely stunned. I'd done it. I still don't know how, what I'd used on him. The battle is pretty much blacked out for me.

Looking back on what I do remember, it was so _obvious_. Of course there would be some sort of rebound. You can't pitch that much power an almost equal force and not expect some sort of aftershock. So, yea, it was stupid. And it hit head on. It was like belly flopping off of the Eiffel Tower onto pointed steel spikes. Funnily enough, that's about what the scars look like. OK, not funny 'ha-ha', funny 'huh'.

It sure was something when I woke up. Crews had been dispatched form the Ministry right away, and they found me barely breathing. It was two months before I woke. It hurt like nothing before or since. None of the potions to help get rid of it helped. Let me tell you, that is pain.

It took a lot to get back to myself, mentally and physically,. No one expected me to do it. Especially at my age. A teenager, kill You-Know-Who! Oops, sorry- Voldemort. It still makes my skin crawl to say his name, but I usually do. Except when habit takes over. Lots of people say it now. As Dumbledore said, fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself. So I try not to fear his name. It doesn't make sense, being afraid of a dead guy, or his name for that matter.

Anyway, when I woke up there were people all around me. They started crying, trying to talk through the tears. Professor Sprout visited, and McGonagall. People I barely recognized by _sight_, never mind by name tried to visit. I got cards from hundreds of witches and wizards. I only kept a few, the ones that really mattered. The ones that weren't all hero-worship. Some of those really bugged me, even though it's kind of flattering at the same time.

I wish Dumbledore had been able to visit though. I can't help feeling that he was the worst off through the entire war. Once- Voldemort got a hold of him, we knew it was over. We did get him back for a while though, a very short while. But he didn't talk anymore. They'd made sure he'd never talk again. He didn't last long, he was too injured. I think it was about a month. I hate remembering what he looked like then- it's too horrible. I prefer to remember him as he was when he was my Headmaster, always jolly and eating Lemon Drops. Merlin, how that man loved candy.

I have to admit, while I was recuperating I did have a favourite visitor. Hermione came every weekend without fail. The first time she cried. I wanted to wipe the tears from her face, tell her how beautiful she is and how much she meant to me. But of course I didn't. I couldn't. She's been with Ron for a while now, and I could never do anything to screw up their life together. Also, I couldn't speak. Or move much. When the wave hit it temporarily paralysed me. It was months before I could speak normally again, and over a year before I had all of my motor skills back. They didn't expect that I would ever walk again. But I had, I mean, I _have_ a few very good friends that helped a lot.

I think the one who helped the most, other than my healers obviously, was Harry. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, the one everybody expected to do what I had done. He visited Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday, always without fail. He's a great friend, Harry. He's pretty happy that the focus is off of him now, and he warned me about this kind of fame and the 'friends' that try to come with it.

I'll always remember the first time he visited, the same day Hermione did. At first he didn't know what to say. Neither did I for that matter. Not that I could have said anything, so that was a pretty dumb statement. He just kind of looked at me, then all of a sudden he grins and says, like he could never be prouder of anyone else in his life, "Nice one, Neville."


End file.
